


Enlacing

by freshfuckinpot



Series: Dave/Link [6]
Category: Foo Fighters, Rhett & Link
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Headspace, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Fixation, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshfuckinpot/pseuds/freshfuckinpot
Summary: ‘You and I could get into some fucked up shit together,’ he’d told Link once, laid out and full of his come on his couch. And they’ve delivered on that musing so far, Link thinks; and all Dave had asked is if he could be a little bit mean to him tonight, if he could dig his fingers in a little deeper.
Relationships: Dave Grohl/Link Neal, Dave Grohl/Link Neal/Rhett McLaughlin, Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Series: Dave/Link [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1230119
Comments: 14
Kudos: 25





	Enlacing

**Author's Note:**

> this is a commission fill for [enthusiasticaudience](https://enthusiasticaudience.tumblr.com/)! it was left to my discretion, as long as it was dave/link or dave/rhink, and uh. it's just sort of 11k of straight-up smut. enjoy!

“You’re a brat, you know that?” 

He’s laughing, so that’s what Link is holding onto. Otherwise, he’d probably lose himself in this just a little bit too much, and it’s too early for that. He’s only just gotten on his knees, and Dave is staring down at him like he’s the answer to all his prayers. Maybe he is, Link doesn’t know. 

Maybe he was praying for a mouthy brat without a filter all this time and got lucky enough to find Link all those months ago. 

Or maybe Link’s just looking for a good spanking tonight and he knows it. One of those ones that’ll leave Link’s knees trembling the whole weekend. Something good and deep and thorough. They’d read each other’s lists a few weeks back, so Link knows he’s into some wild stuff. Fuck, they’ve _done_ some wild stuff together. 

_‘You and I could get into some fucked up shit together,’_ he’d told Link once, laid out and full of his come on his couch. And they’ve delivered on that musing so far, Link thinks; and all Dave had asked is if he could be a little bit mean to him tonight, if he could dig his fingers in a little deeper. 

They hadn’t discussed specifics, because Link trusts Dave implicitly, knows he wouldn’t do a damn thing to hurt him or take advantage. So he’s going into this a little bit blind. 

A good spanking, though. Gosh, Link shivers at the thought. 

He’ll ask for next time if it’s not on the table tonight. 

His moment is interrupted by the brush of a thumb over his cheekbone before it digs in just enough to ache through his skull. When he hisses, he’s gently reminded, “Asked you a question.” 

“Yes, sir,” Link automatically says, and Dave hums with his approval. 

“Yes, you know you’re a brat?” 

“‘S on my list,” Link says, slurring a little bit. God, if he’s already this worked up this early on, he’s in for a wild time. Honestly, he expects nothing less. 

Dave’s got one of those chuckles that’s deep and throaty, frayed on the ends. A tone that only years of smoking will accomplish. Years of drinking, too. Link could taste the whiskey on his tongue earlier, before he’d gotten Link on his knees, a hand in his hair, and a promise to make tonight worth his while. 

Which, he always does. 

He knows Dave will put his money where his mouth is, always has. And, gosh, that _mouth_. 

The line of Link’s cock presses uncomfortably against his fly, and he squirms just a bit. Dave’s hand in his hair tightens and tugs him forward as he takes a step closer, until Link’s mouth is right up against his erection. He lets his jaw fall slack, but doesn’t put any effort into it in case that’s not what Dave is going for. 

“Go ahead,” he hears, voice lilting at the ends in encouragement, something teasing and playful. It’s already filthy, and Link opens his mouth fully, pushes as hard as he can with his tongue, looks up to try and make eye-contact. “I _know_ it was on your list, for the fuckin’ record. But since you’re so keen on using that mouth right now, figure out how to use it _properly_ , yeah?” 

‘Properly’ is pointed around the ends, obviously an order. A brat he may be, but Link is good at doing what he’s told, so he sits up a little higher, gets his teeth around the button of Dave’s jeans. This part is hard, from his experience (which is very little, honestly) but he pushes and pushes, feels a flare of heat at the embarrassment when Dave tuts his tongue against his teeth and says, “Fuckin’ lame, man. You gonna try harder?” 

And he pushes his hips up harder against Link’s face. Link redoubles his efforts immediately, seals his lips around the coarse denim and uses the tip of his tongue to push at the metal. After a beat, Dave tuts again, gets his other hand in Link’s hair to manhandle him into a nod, saying, “The answer is ‘yes, sir’, Link.” 

Garbled and slurred, Link grins around a, “Yes, sir. Sorry,” as he finally-- fucking _finally_ \-- gets the button opened. 

“Good boy,” Dave murmurs, and loosens his grip enough to give Link free reign of his movement again. 

The zipper is the easy part, even if it does hurt his teeth and leave behind the taste of metal on his tongue. It’s worth it for the groan Dave lets out, the way he sounds so fucking _proud_ of Link’s accomplishment. His fingers scratch at Link’s scalp, sending goosebumps scattering across his skin, and he hums into the feeling, nosing his way into Dave’s jeans.

He’s wearing briefs because of course he is, so Link just mouths a wet patch into the cotton and pants loudly, hoping Dave takes pity on him and helps him out. Instead of helping, he lets Link flounder for a bit before laughing in a way that curls up hot and humiliated in the pit of Link’s stomach and saying, “Ask me for what you want, Link.” 

“Can you please get your dick out for me?” but it’s pressed into cloth and it’s probably hardly even real words, muffled and garbled and full of sweet desperation. “Please?” 

“Why?”

It’s laced with laughter and Link can’t help the way he whines in frustration at being strung along like this, goaded into more than he’s already giving. When they met, Link immediately knew they were on an eye-to-eye sort of basis. Same hat, Dave had said once, off-handed. Except Dave’s always had a firm grip around Link’s wrist to pull him in close and murmur something in his ear, his mustache tickling the shell of his ear as he talks, and Link had realized pretty quickly that maybe it’s _not_ the same hat-- but they’re certainly a good fit. 

Dave is--

He’s _confident_. He knows who he is and what he’s good at, and there’s very little room in his personality for being embarrassed until way, way after the fact, which means he’s good at riling up a situation until everyone involved is collectively making questionable decisions and probably fucking by the end of the night. And Link isn’t much different, if he’s honest. They’re a good fit. 

Because Link’s energy doesn’t come so much from confidence as it does from a need to showboat. Dave just knows what he fucking wants and takes it because nobody is going to tell him no. His career has been proof of the fact that nobody tells him no. 

Link is curious to find out what happens to someone that does. 

So Link laughs too, mouth still pressed right up against Dave’s crotch, mouth full of soggy underwear. “Don’t, then,” he says with a shrug. 

And immediately, the hand in his hair tightens, fingers curling cruelly, and Dave asks, “I’m sorry; what was that?” 

“Don’t,” Link says again. “If you don’t want me to suck your dick for you, then,” and he shrugs, eyes watering a little with how hard Dave is pulling at his hair. 

He knows better than to think this is going to get him anything other than some sort of punishment. That’s the name of the game, right? He’s supposed to either be mild and meek and _listen_ or deal with whatever form of discipline Dave thinks is fit for his insubordination. 

It’s a little bit disappointing when Dave just sighs again, reaches into his briefs and pulls out his cock. There’s just a flash of upset as Link deflates from all his grandiose ideas of maybe getting that spanking afterall, or of having his hair pulled harder, his hands tied behind his back, a paddle, a belt, clothespins. Anything. 

Anything at all except just _acquiescence_. 

But it just takes a beat before Dave’s stroking himself a couple of times, Link’s face still pressed into the whole mess of it all, knuckles passing over his forehead, nose, lips, chin as he goes. Then, Dave says, “Open,” and waits until Link does. 

Sticks his tongue out for good measure. 

“Mm, a step ahead of me, huh?” Dave says, and then he’s slapping the head of his cock against Link’s tongue, obscene and ridiculous, but he’s leaking already, so Link can taste a little bit of his bitter precome. “Deep breath,” he mutters, and Link listens immediately, knows what’s coming. 

He fills his lungs, and on his exhale, Dave sinks his cock down Link’s throat, all the way with no preamble, no build-up. Ah, so _this_ is his punishment. 

“If I have to shut you up myself, then I might as well fucking get something out of it, don’t you think?” 

And, just to push his luck, he tries making a garbled sound of agreement, despite his throat being otherwise occupied, and Dave gives him a hearty laugh of disbelief, tutting loudly before he’s pinching at Link’s nose with his thumb and forefinger. 

Oh. _Oh_. That’s-- that’s something, that’s scary and maybe too much all at once and Link gets a hand on Dave’s calf just in case he needs to tap out. He feels Dave’s posture flinch as soon as he makes contact, but when Link stays put, he relaxes again, rocks his hips forward half an inch. 

Fuck, Link feels like he can feel it in his guts, in his toes. He already feels so fucking full like this, especially since he can’t fucking _breathe_. All he can do is sputter uselessly, his throat spasming every time Dave rocks forward, every time his fucking heart beats. 

Gosh. 

_Shit_ , this is a lot. His head and his vision are both swimming, and right as his lungs start burning, Dave pulls all the way out, wet cock slapping against his belly, strings of Link’s spit still connecting them. It’s obscene and Dave is saying something that Link can’t register because he’s so caught up in this, in focusing on trying to breathe. But then he’s letting him go, letting him suck in a big, desperate breath that burns through his lungs. 

He gets his other hand on Dave’s other calf, holds himself up that way before tilting his head back up and looking up at Dave. He doesn’t look much different, and that rocks through Link with a jolt. That confidence, holding his posture in place, holding that look of almost-boredom solidly on his face. 

Link can’t bite back a groan, can’t help the way he surges forward to mouth over the slick, messy line of Dave’s cock just to see if he can get him to react. He doesn’t, not really, not beyond his dick twitching obscenely and his hands pulling at Link’s hair a little bit. Other than that, all he does is hum deep in his chest and eventually move his hips backwards, out of Link’s reach while he holds him firmly in place. 

“God, you really are a fucking brat,” he says, voice gruff like _he’s_ the one who just had a cock shoved down his throat. “Now, _why_ did you want me to get my dick out for you, Link?” 

Oh, that’s-- 

That’s fucking _good_ , that feeling of heat stirring low in his guts at the realization that he’s still _there_. So he groans, throat tight with how he’s being held in place, eyes watering from the sting of fingers twisted in his hair. 

“Wanted to suck your cock,” he says around a whine. 

“No,” Dave says, sounding annoyed, disappointed, and Link’s entire body thrums. He’s on fire, he’s drowning in this, he’s floating in the lingering spaces between the two of them. “No, why did _I_ have to do it?” 

And he takes a big step forward, burying Link’s face into the curve of his belly, tapping his cheek with his cock before Link can even manage to get a word out. 

Around another heavy groan, Link says, “Because I couldn’t do it.” 

“You couldn’t do it,” Dave says. “Too stupid to figure out how to do it. Is there anything at all in that pretty head of yours? Huh?” And his thumbs dig into Link’s cheekbones, tilting his face back until Link’s looking up at him, kind of a mess, trying not to wince against the pressure. “Fuck, it is a pretty head, though, ain’t it?” 

All Link can do is nod, too afraid his words will be a slurred mess of nothing but vowels at this point, living solely in the gravelly sound of Dave’s voice. 

More so when his thumbs grow kind against the bones of Link’s face, stroke over the skin instead, and he says, kind and soft, “Give me your color, baby.” 

“Green,” Link manages, his jaw feeling dumb and useless. “So, so green. Gosh.” 

“Okay,” Dave says, and then he’s bending at the waist to slot their mouths together sweetly. He still tastes like whiskey, and Link kisses him dirty, tests his luck and sucks his tongue into his mouth to chase that flavor, searching for the intimacy. Dave lets him have it, grants him the satisfaction of kissing how he likes, kissing how he craves, reassuring him that he’s okay, that he’s still right here. 

But then Dave is pulling away and he’s _pulling away_ , leaving Link on his knees on the floor, watching as he walks over towards the bed, picking up his phone and plugging it into the charger, rearranging pillows, smoothing out the comforter. Link watches him patiently, waits for an order or a question or literally anything at all, really, but Dave takes his time. 

He tugs his shirt over his head, tosses it in the laundry basket in the corner of the room. Toes his shoes off. Takes his pants and boxers completely off. 

“Dave,” Link says quietly, his tongue working around the sound before he can help himself. 

“Yeah?” Dave asks, not bothering to look over at him as he plops himself down on the bed, swings his legs up so he can recline against the headboard. He shoves the second pillow behind his back so he’s more comfortable. 

Link doesn’t know what he was going to say, what he _should_ say, even. So he doesn’t say anything at all, just lets the silence drag on between them. 

Only, Dave looks at him expectantly and raises his eyebrows, scrubs a hand over his mustache, scratches through his beard. “What, Link?” 

“Please,” and it comes out too quiet, too slurred. For a beat, he expects Dave to take pity on him, for this to turn into the filthy, focused fucking it usually is for them, but all Dave does is snort indelicately. 

“Please _what_?” 

And, and-- 

And Link doesn’t _know_. He doesn’t know, he just knows his whole body is thrumming, his blood pumping thick and heavy through his veins as he tries to get a grip on the scene laid out before him. He knows he wants to touch and be touched, but Dave’s so fucking far away and he wasn’t told to get up and follow him. 

He doesn’t know why he needs to be told, but he does because doing it otherwise feels wrong. That punishment from earlier doesn’t sound so appealing right now when all he wants is Dave to be mean to him again, call him stupid or useless until Link knows what he wants, until Link can _give him_ what he wants. 

The tears pooling in his eyes are so unexpected that he’s almost embarrassed. 

“What-- Can I get on the bed with you?” he asks, carefully, trying to fight the sudden thickness in his throat. “Please?” 

Dave makes a contemplative sound, and Link feels his chest tighten with nerves that he might say no. But then he’s spreading his legs, cocking his head to the side, and saying, “Get undressed for me first.” 

Link doesn’t think he’s ever gotten naked so quickly before, uncaring where his clothes end up, knocking his knee on a bedpost in his haste to climb up and make his way to Dave. His skin is warm when Link touches him, lays himself over his lap, face-first, burying his nose in his ribs and taking a big, steadying breath. 

A big, rough palm lands on his shoulders, rubbing across the expanse of his back, and Dave says, “Good boy, Link,” just quiet enough that Link wonders if he made it up. 

It’s good, being like this, skin-on-skin with Dave. Something alive and real under the fog of whatever headspace he’s in already. Shit, they haven’t even really started and he’s already lost in it, fuzzy around the edges. Dave’s fingertips press into his aching jaw, and for a second Link thinks it’s an absentminded thing, just something to do with his hands, but then he’s coaxing his mouth open, pressing two thick fingers-- middle and ring-- against Link’s tongue. 

Then, back and back and back, and Link’s body curls up with his gag, a rush of thick spit following those fingers when they pull nearly all the way out. He rests them just behind Link’s bottom teeth, curls them just enough to be threatening, and he says, “I know you want me to hit you.” 

_Hit_. That’s not-- 

It’s not the word Link had really landed on, but now that it’s there...maybe. 

He doesn’t say any of that, just tries his damndest to sink back down on those fingers, gets to about the second knuckle before he’s realizing Dave hasn’t uncurled them, before those knuckles are dragging across his palette uncomfortably. Too wide and too much, and Link settles back down with a whine somewhere deep in his throat. 

“I _know_ you want it,” Dave reiterates, mouth sounding thick around the words, “and that’s why I’m not gonna fucking hit you. You haven’t been _good_ enough to get something you want yet, Link.” 

Something flares hot and bright in Link’s stomach at the implications there, that Dave’s got something else up his sleeve, something that’s going to make Link squirm, make him uncomfortable. He’s teetering on the edge here, caught somewhere between desperate and fluid, his limbs twitchy but heavy at the same time. He’s glad for the fingers in his mouth, because it’s a nice, steadying feeling. 

“You’ll hit me soon, though?” Link asks, and _gosh_ , he’s further in it than he thought. 

“Fuck, baby,” Dave croons, and he presses his fingers back again, into the back of Link’s throat, curls them down and flutters his fingers like he’s fucking him. He rocks his hand against Link’s face, the very corners of Link’s mouth stretched painfully against the creases between the fingers not fucking his throat. It’s filthy and it has every nerve ending in Link’s body singing, got him garbling out more sounds that he can’t quite get out entirely. 

Vaguely, he’s aware of tears welling up in his eyes, of how he gags again, Dave’s low, gravely voice is in his head calling him _pretty_ and _good_ and “ _\--take it so fucking good for me, baby, fuck.”_

“I’ll hit you soon,” he promises, the next time Link gags. “I’ll bend you over my fucking knee and everything. Use whatever the fuck you want me to, buy you something really fucking pretty and expensive.” 

And Link’s _sure_ he means it, knows that if Link picks something out and sends him a link he’ll buy it in a heartbeat because Dave _loves_ him. 

Dave loves _this_ , loves making a mess of Link and loves how quickly he can do it, how _easy_ Link is when he’s like this. The room quiets down around the wet, squelching noises of Link’s throat being fucked, of Link sniffling around the tears streaming down his face. 

His throat aches when Dave slips his fingers out, wet from the tips to his wrist, making an obscenely slick noise that matches all the ones Link’s throat was making. 

“Fuck,” he croaks, half expecting to cough, but grimacing when he realizes how slick his throat is instead. “ _Dave_.” A chuckle, and then the upsetting feeling of Dave’s hand covered in Link’s spit carding through Link’s hair. 

He must make a noise without realizing it, because Dave laughs again, jostling Link where he’s still draped over his lap, and saying, “Can’t give you everything you want, baby.” Rubbing the mess of it into Link’s hair, “Gonna let me put my cock inside you?” 

Link drops his wet mouth to whatever skin he can get, itching for more around the loss of those fingers filling him up. He doesn’t sink his teeth in there-- the sensitive dip of his ribs-- but he thinks about it for a beat. Groaning, he shifts his whole body against Dave’s, skin against skin, his heavy, thick cock dragging along the soft inside of Dave’s thigh. 

It’s so _fucking_ good. 

To touch and be touched and get lost in this whole thing, get lost in _Dave_. 

He closes his eyes, catches his breath for half a second. 

And then, at the feeling of Dave’s fingers, slick and insisting, pressing between his cheeks, he squeezes his eyes shut tighter and bites down a desperate sound. Dave hums, filling the void, chasing its way down Link’s spine in a rush, and then he’s murmuring, “Spread for me.” 

It’s not even a thought to listen, to reach behind himself and get a hand on his ass, pull himself open for Dave. The angle is comfortable, and he stays where he is, doesn’t rearrange himself in favor of being able to bury his face in Dave’s skin as he sinks into him with two of those thick fingers at once, so much fucking thicker than Link’s own, and he fingers himself open in the shower sometimes, when he misses this, misses Dave, and he-- and-- _fuck, it’s--_

“Yeah? You’ll have to give me a demonstration,” Dave laughs, breathy and right in Link’s fucking head, but maybe not because they haven’t moved. Maybe he’s just everywhere right now because Link feels so open around him, flayed apart and sheared down to his bare bones. 

His thighs are trembling, hips rocking back and up to try and fuck himself down more, try and show Dave that he can do this for him, he can-- he can do whatever he wants, can-- can spread himself open and show him how he-- but his fingers aren’t this good or this big or, or-- _oh fuck, please,_ “Please,” and he’s sobbing around his own thoughts, lost in the feeling and the headspace and the way that Dave’s skin smells. 

“Please what, baby?” Dave asks, and Link’s mouth opens to try and answer him, but nothing comes out. “Hm? Please _what_ , Link? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t _tell me_ what it is.” He presses into him just right, fingers curling like they did in his throat. Link wonders if it’s his own spit or actual lube easing the way right now. 

“You _know_ ,” Link whines, mouth finally figuring out how to work around syllables, tongue still lost somewhere in his mouth as Dave just _holds him open_. “Please, _please_ , Dave. Oh, gosh. I’m good, I’m so good for you, _please_.” 

“Oh, you’re good, now?” Dave teases. “You’re _so good_ , now, is that right?” 

“For you,” Link gasps, “yes, oh-- _Oh_ , yes, I’m-- _Fuck_.” 

Dave gets his free hand in Link’s hair to hold him in place as he slips a third finger inside of him, unnecessary at this point, dragging this out more than Link wants. 

“It’s too much, daddy,” Link gasps, “Fuck, it’s-- It’s too much, I can’t--”

“You can,” Dave says, and Link thinks he sounds almost bored, almost like he’s doing this for Link’s benefit when Link’s been sitting here begging him to fuck him, begging him for more, for-- for his cock. And he wants to scream, feels one building in his chest the more Dave stretches him open, the more those huge fucking fingers work, hot and messy, inside of him. He crooks them and rocks his hand against Link’s ass, rubs his pinky along the flared rim of his hole, a tease, and Link sucks in a sharp breath, whole body twitching at the anticipation of something that might actually be too much. It never comes, and instead, Dave just holds him open with those three fingers again, says, “Show me how bad you want it, baby. Convince me why I should bother putting my cock in this hole.” 

There’s another sob sitting in the back of Link’s throat, but his face is enough of a wreck, so he bites it back. He’s already so fucking exhausted from all of this that he doesn’t know if he’s even got the strength in his muscles to do anything, but he tries, clenches down around Dave’s fingers, relaxes, and does it again, rolls his hips back desperately. 

He’s so full like this, and Dave’s pinky brushes over his hole again, so tantalizingly close that Link almost asks him for it just to get the waiting over with, just to put his trembling hands at ease, to-- to fucking _know what it feels like._

 _Fuck._ “You gonna--” 

“No,” Dave says gently, kindly. “No, baby, not tonight.” 

Not _tonight_. Not tonight because tonight is about being mean to Link, it’s about this fluttery feeling in his veins as he tries and tries and tries to be good and to take whatever Dave gives him. It’s not about asking for more, which he’s done twice already. 

“‘S okay,” Dave promises around a chuckle, when Link apologizes for being greedy, mouth working around the words in a slur. He’s still got three of his fingers buried in Link’s ass, is still stretching him open, holding him in place like this, and Link clenches down around him again and again and again until he’s finally groaning, saying, “Alright, Link, okay, I’ll give you what you want. Fuck, you want it bad, don’t you?” 

“Gosh, yes, yeah. _Dave_ ,” and he’s greedy still, hips moving with the feeling of him pulling his fingers out. But that just means he’s empty again, burying his sob into Dave’s skin this time, ass clenching around nothing, desperate and greedy and _pleasepleasepleaseohgoshdave_ \-- 

The bed groans in sympathy as Dave manhandles him around, moves them both until he’s got Link on his back, knees folded up and pressed into his chest. One set of those big, thick fucking fingers dig bruises into the back of his thigh as Dave uses his wet hand to guide the head of his cock to Link’s slick hole. 

And Link’s exhaling right as Dave is pressing inside, like he’s replacing the fucking air in his lungs, like all he needs to survive is Dave’s cock, wet and so fucking big and sliding right inside of him like he fucking belongs there, and he does, he does, _he does_ \-- _fuck_. 

“Look at you fucking taking it.” 

Dave sounds as fucked out as Link feels, and that’s a jolt right on the tip of Link’s tongue, something sweet and molasses-y dripping down the back of his throat. He arches up into the feeling of being full, finally, of skin-on-skin, filling the room with a heavy sob as Dave fucks into him. 

And god, he can practically feel the fuck of it in his throat like this, with Dave pushing at him, bending him in half. He finds himself scrabbling for purchase, hands slipping against Dave’s sweaty skin, finally coming to rest on his shoulders and staying put mostly because he isn’t sure he can fucking move anymore. 

His throat might be the only fucking thing that works ever again even though he can still feel the shape of Dave’s fingers there, how they’d stretched him there, too, how he’d fucked him open and raw. 

Just like he’s doing now, and his toes curl, his chest heaves. Dave’s got him so he can’t really move much, neatly pressed into the bed and into himself, and when he pulls out all the way, it’s a shock. It’s got Link gasping with it, making a pitiful sound of indignance before he’s saying, “Put-- Put it back in me, _come on_ , fuck.” 

When Dave doesn’t, just laughs, Link lolls his head to the side and whines, hips rocking against nothing. His cock is wet against his belly, the cool air overwhelming now that he doesn’t have anything distracting him from it. But Dave slides his right up against Link’s, like he’s comparing, says, “Look,” and slaps his cock against Link’s belly. “Look, at the fucking space I’m taking up inside you, Link. How much of you you’re letting me fill up with my cock.” 

And Link does look, watches how he slides through the mess of Link’s precome slicking his skin, how he guides himself back inside of Link. 

“Oh, fuck,” Link pants, eyes fluttering up, cock twitching. “Come on, daddy, fuck me. Make me come, daddy.” 

“Ask me nicely for it.” 

Fuck, hasn’t he been? Hasn’t he been begging for it, practically drooling for Dave’s cock? He’s been so good, is open and hot and ready for it-- is fucking strung out on just the way Dave’s been teasing him for upwards of an hour now. There hasn’t been a moment he hasn’t wanted this, asked for it, body thrumming and alive with the desperation that’s ignited under his skin. And-- 

And his jaw feels too heavy for words, brain too focused on the way Dave’s cock feels fucking into him, heavy and purposeful. Still, he tries-- tries his hardest to get his mouth to work around the words, “Please,” and “Fuck,” and “Dave,” and he thinks he must get at least most of the syllables out, if not any actual words, because one of Dave’s hands wraps around the base of his cock and squeezes just enough to have Link nearly shouting with it. 

If this is how Dave want to be mean to him, he can do it all the time, do it whenever the fuck he wants, just bend Link over and call him filthy or bad or _pretty_ , get him on his knees and fuck his throat raw-- fuck, he can do whatever he wants as long as he fucks Link just like this, _fuck_. 

“Don’t fucking tempt me,” Dave laughs. “I don’t think Rhett would be too happy with me if I strolled into the office and fucked you raw in the middle of a work day.” 

“Oh, gosh,” Link sobs, because yes, he fucking would, and Link’s the boss there too, so if he wants to get fucked, he’ll get fucked, and-- 

“Okay, baby,” Dave says, and he’s still laughing, but Link’s fucking serious. He-- he’s-- 

He’s so fucking close, and Dave isn’t really jerking him off, but his hand is a nice pressure, warm and tight, and he’s fucking up into him steadily, thrusts solid and sure and exactly where Link needs them. 

Good gracious, he’s still fuzzy around the edges, his tongue feeling lost somewhere in his mouth, his limbs completely at the mercy of wherever Dave wants them to be, arms sort of stretched out above him, legs still pressed against his chest. There’s something about being fucked like this, being toyed with until he’s like stretched taffy, with Dave’s hands and lips and tongue and cock there to hold him together, even as he loses control of himself. It’s fucking nice, it’s so good, just the hot, slick press of their bodies together as Link hurtles closer and closer to orgasm. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, and the tears that have been slicking his face this whole time are suddenly too cold on his skin, the ache in his jaw too defined, the way his legs are pressing at his lungs making it harder to breathe. “Fuck, Dave, please let me come, please. I need to come, I need to come,” and he can’t stop saying it now that he’s started, a frantic, hysteric feeling in his chest, that hot, slick feeling in his stomach turning to fire. 

“Come on,” Dave’s telling him, finally fucking jerking him off for real, “come on, Link, wanna fucking feel you come while I’m inside you. Show me how fucking good you are for me, baby.” 

“I am, _I am_ , oh fuck, yes, please, _yes_ ,” Link babbles, not even fully aware of what he’s saying anymore, body going tense all over before he’s coming all over himself and Dave, warm all over, jaw going slack and useless while his body trembles into the feeling. Gosh, it’s like radio static in his veins, his entire body made of spun sugar, ribbon spooling loosely through his ribs, and he counts his heartbeat in his head as he tries to catch his breath, tries to will his eyes to stop leaking. 

He knows he looks a mess, moreso now that he’s come and loose-limbed against the bed, egging Dave on with little, lazy circles of his hips. It’s all he can manage, that and the sleepy grin on his face, for now. So that’s what Dave gets, paired with a low, gravely hum that sneaks out without permission, like Dave’s fucked out his ability to control his own vocal chords. It’s not impossible, not with how Link’s feeling right now. 

He’s pretty sure he’d do whatever Dave wanted him to. 

Which is why, when Dave finally comes inside him, Link lets him press back into the mess he’s made with three of those fucking fingers and milk a second orgasm from him, weaker and almost painful. 

It’s a little bit mean, just like he’d asked for. 

\---

The logistics of running a full-time business, maintaining a healthy and happy marriage with healthy and happy children, and diving headfirst into a, quite frankly, buckwild relationship with an actually-famous famous person (with the occasional side order of his best friend and business partner) get a little bit milky in his head sometimes, like soapy bathwater. It isn’t even that it’s particularly difficult, because there’s a routine they’ve fallen into, but more that he doesn’t know how to parse through it all sometimes. 

And, looking through his big, picture window, warm water cocooning his thoughts safely inside his body as he soaks in a bath, he tries pulling the strings taught in his brain. He tries parsing through it all, finally. 

Dave is-- 

He’s a huge presence. Just the shape he takes in any room he’s in, how he manages to blanket himself over every inch of it without trying. People gravitate towards him, for more reasons than the status attached to his name, and their relationship now is, admittedly, sort of a direct result of that. Not that he thinks Dave is going to kick him to the curb for the next asshole that takes up too much space in a night where he’s trying to have a good time. He’s pretty secure in this, feels like he’s standing on solid ground. 

And, really, he’s felt that way from the beginning. Dave’s never given him a reason to feel otherwise. Even during that first conversation with Christy, the ‘ _You’ll never believe who I fucked last night_ ’ conversation he remembers so clearly, the way her brows had furrowed before she gave him one of those looks and asked if he was as charming in real life as he seemed. Every inch of this has been lined in gold, clear and bright and something important enough that he’s felt like he’s needed to keep it tucked in his pocket for safekeeping. 

Only, he didn’t do that. He waved it around in Rhett’s face and asked him if he wanted to see what it was like for himself. Asked him if he-- if he wanted to see what _Link_ was like for himself. Which, alright, isn’t _entirely_ true. 

It’s not _not_ true, but it’s not all there is to it, and he knows that. The two of them have spent too many lunches sitting across from each other, discussing Dave and Link and how Rhett may or may not fit into the situation for Link to really believe there’s any sort of selfishness involved. 

He knows how to share. He knows how to share _enthusiastically_. Happily. 

And that’s-- 

That’s what he is. He’s happy. Wholly and entirely, from the milky scraps of doubt clouding his thoughts to the ache in his bones-- he’s _happy_. 

Humming, he sinks further into his bath, gets the very ends of his hair wet. 

Maybe he’ll ask Dave if he and Rhett can be _real_ mean to him. If he’ll hit him, soon. 

For now, he soaks.

\---

“So,” Dave says, and he licks the salt from the fries he stole off of Link’s plate from his thumb as he does, “you gonna tell us what you want, or do we have to guess?” 

“You--” 

“If you tell me I’ve seen your list again, I’m not touching you for a week,” he says, serious and short, stealing more fries and giving Link a pointed look. “And I’ll talk to Christy and make sure she doesn’t, either. _Tell us_ what you want, Link.” 

Gosh. That feels unfair, but-- 

But Link still swallows thickly, bites down the urge to shrug his shoulders, say exactly what he was going to say before Dave cut him off. Instead, he tells them, “I want you to hit me.” 

“That it?” 

“Just be mean to me,” and this time he _does_ shrug. “Call me stupid, hit me, just-- Gosh, I don’t know, man.” 

Next to him, Rhett makes a low sound in his chest. 

“You want Rhett to be mean to you, too?” And Dave crosses one leg over the other, rubs at his thigh for a second before he’s finally giving Link his full attention. Somehow, that’s worse, but Link lets the discomfort settle around him. 

“I want _you_ to be mean to me, and I want Rhett to be there to do what you tell him,” Link admits. “If you want him to be mean to me, too, fine. But.” 

“But you want me to be in charge,” Dave finishes for him. “You like when I’m bossy with both of you.” 

Link nods, steals Dave’s drink from the table. He’s glad they’re tucked in a back part of the restaurant, graciously given some privacy when the hostess realized who Dave was. It feels taboo enough talking about this in public, much less if they were somewhere more heavily trafficked. 

“Rhett,” Dave says, and he serpentines Link’s train of thought entirely when he says, “can you put together a list for me? And a safeword, please.” 

“Yeah,” Rhett says, easy peasy, like he’s been waiting to be asked this whole time. Shit, maybe he has been. Maybe since that first day, when Link got on his knees in front of Dave, humped his leg to get off like he’s some desperate and baseless thing. 

Fuck. 

He-- 

They should probably leave soon, maybe. Probably. He clears his throat, steals another sip of Dave’s drink, something heavy and earthy-- whiskey, more than likely, but something else there, too. It’s nice. Link should get another one of these. 

But Dave pulls him in close enough that he can press his mouth to the side of Link’s head, just briefly, and Link knows he’s looking for confirmation that Link’s okay. So, he moves and gets a hand on Dave’s thigh for just long enough to squeeze, give him a grin as he drains the rest of his drink. 

“You should get another one of those,” he says, and Dave reaches out, pinches him on the side, right below his ribs. 

Squirming, Link bites his bottom lip hard enough to bite back the squeal of laughter that wants to bubble out of him at the feeling. 

Dave orders another drink, and Link drinks that one, too. 

He’s fuzzy at the meeting he and Rhett hold with their employees later. 

Distracted, too, by the delicate curve of Rhett’s wrists and how they’d look wrapped in Dave’s thick fingers while he fucked Rhett open. 

But, he’s the fucking boss, so who cares? 

\---

“Make sure it’s detailed. He’s-- he’s gonna want to go over it with you regardless, but just to be safe--” 

“Link,” Rhett cuts him off, laughing softly. “Chill out, man.” 

Link shrugs. Licks his lips. “I just want you to know what you’re getting into, ‘s all.” 

There’s a huff and maybe an eye roll then, but he doesn’t bother looking hard enough to find out. And alright, maybe he’s a little bit high-strung right now. Maybe Rhett’s warranted in his frustration, but it’s just because he wants to get to the good stuff, man. He doesn’t want to have to sit around for an hour and a half while Dave makes Rhett go into detail about what he’s sure about and what he’s not sure about. 

Link hasn’t seen Rhett’s list. Not because he isn’t allowed to see it or something, just because he hasn’t seen it. Rhett’s got it rolled up and shoved between his seat and the center console, his hand wrapped around the gearstick lazily. 

Something about all this has Link feeling antsy. 

Or, well, maybe antsy isn’t exactly right. He feels a bit _swept up_. A little bit like the sky is growing and growing and growing above him. 

“I’m pretty sure I get the gist of it,” Rhett tells him, and he’s smirking like he can’t believe they’re having this conversation. “Why are you always so worried about how I’m going to react to Dave, man? Chill out. The guy’s had his dick in my ass before, Link.” 

Link turns his head to look out the window instead of letting Rhett see the flush creeping up from his neck. He doesn’t know, alright? There’s still this feeling that the other shoe is going to drop soon, that this is all going to be ripped from under him or something. It’s inherently selfish, wanting to be surrounded by so many people, to _have_ so many people. So, he thinks he’s worried his selfishness is going to catch up with him. Silly, it may be if he were to verbalize it, but it makes enough sense in his head to parse through the fact that he feels shaky and full of adrenaline. 

But he doesn’t tell Rhett any of this. No, it’s easier to look out the window and play the defensive with a, “I’m not _worried_.” And after Rhett snorts, _sure, yeah_ , he says, “I just want you to know what he’s like before we get started.” 

“Link,” Rhett says, and he sounds exasperated in a way that clenches up in Link’s guts, “I’m pretty sure I got it, alright? Jeez, you’re wound up tight today. Chill the hell out.” 

There’s a rebuttal building in his throat, but he swallows it down. Rhett’s right, not that Link is going to give him the satisfaction of telling him that. It’s a little unfair that he seems so unphased while Link can’t seem to sit still, can’t seem to get out of his own head. Though, that’s what he’s hoping to get from this little adventure of theirs, isn’t it? 

So for the rest of the car ride, he sits on his hands and looks out the window, feeling the tension crawl up and down his spine as he tries to settle himself down. 

Dave, for what it’s worth, notices _immediately_ \-- because, of course he does. Not that Link’s capable of _subtlety_ at this point. He’s half-hard and anxious and _itching_ for it. 

“You look ready to fuckin’ bolt,” Dave says with a laugh just for Link, grabbing at Link’s chin just on _this_ side of painful and pulling him in for a quick, dry kiss. When he pulls away, he pats Link on the cheek, winks at him when he groans. “We’re not there yet, baby.” 

“He’s been like this all day.” And honestly, Rhett can kiss his ass. 

The look he gets from Dave sort of makes him feel ashamed, a white hot flash of humiliation blanching through him. “Yeah, well he can wait ‘til we’re done. Right?” He doesn’t look away from Link as he talks, and that’s-- 

Gosh. Maybe Link’s in over his head, just a little bit, if he’s already ready to drop to his knees and do whatever they both want just from _casual conversation_. 

It’s the _intent_ , though. Those words have _meaning_ , the looks he’s getting are alluding to something else, something he’s been thinking about for weeks. Something he didn’t even know he wanted so badly until Dave said he could have it, and now there’s this steady buzzing in his veins for it that he hasn’t been able to shake since. He’s _been_ patient. He _wants_. 

But he’s also good. He listens, because he likes the rewards he gets when he does better than he likes the punishments of being denied. So he nods his head and earns another weighted pat, very nearly a smack, and puts his hands in his pockets. 

For good measure, he mumbles a quick, “Thank you.” 

Dave’s whole face lights up with it. “Oh, you’re gonna be fun tonight.” 

And Link could argue, could really get himself in trouble here, but he bites his tongue and lets Dave lead him through the house to their familiar room. The hand he’s got on the small of his back is comfortable and warm, a weighty reminder that he’s there and he’s _there_. 

Dave can say they’re not there yet all he wants, but Link can tell he’s just as into it as Link is. His fingers drum absentmindedly against the dip of Link’s spine, and he’s taking big, heavy strides to keep a faster pace than Rhett. It’s subtle, but Link knows. 

Link can tell. 

The door isn’t closed for half a second before he’s pulling Link to him, slotting their mouths together sweetly. He says, “Good?” 

“Mm,” Link hums, nodding. “Good.” 

Dave’s face is lit up with his grin, and he kisses Link again before turning his attention to Rhett. “Alright, big guy. Let’s see what we’re working with. Link, why don’t you strip and kneel at the foot of the bed for me.” 

\--

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. 

That’s sort of his first complaint. 

His second complaint is that, at some point, Dave had come and manhandled him until he was kneeling with his face in the bedspread, posture board-straight and starting to ache a little. So he’s uncomfortable on top of being a little bit bored. 

His _third_ complaint is that he can _hear_ what they’re saying. They’re talking about him, and he can hear them, and Dave had made it clear when Link had chimed in with his own opinion on something earlier that he was expected to stay quiet. They were having a private conversation that didn’t concern Link, and if he needed to be corrected again, he’d spend the night sitting in the living room on his hands while Dave and Rhett had a nice night together. 

So, he’s...kneeling here, faced away from the conversation, and focusing on finding a position that strains a different set of muscles every so often to try and relieve that creeping discomfort. 

He’s shifting to his left when he hears Dave say, “Last one,” and he doesn’t know if it’s directed to him or Rhett, but it doesn’t matter. 

Fuck, it doesn’t matter, because they’re almost done and, and, and-- 

The whimper that falls out of him is undignified, and he turns his head to bury his face in the mattress to hide the blush creeping up his neck. 

“Impatient boy,” Dave chides, clicking his tongue, drawing Link from his own desperation and into the moment. “ _Last one_.” 

And that time it’s definitely for Link, and he sucks in a deep breath, nods on the exhale. He sits back up, his back burning with the shift, and lets their voices return to a background hum as he waits. After a beat, he bows again, rests his head on the bed. 

Their voices are low, shared between just the two of them, and Link doesn’t focus on the words, just the shape of them. Dave keeps his voice light but not careful, and Link knows that tone, knows that he’s _touching_ , somehow, grounding the both of them. If he were interested in being punished tonight, he’d turn and look for himself, see what they look like, see what part of Rhett Dave has a hand on. 

If it’s his thigh, he’s dragging his thumb across denim, but if it’s his arm or his hand, he’s flexing his fingers every so often, letting Rhett know he’s still there. Could be his side, a little more intimate of a spot, warm and sure and real. His shoulder, maybe. Friendly. Light. 

He-- 

His thoughts are interrupted again by a hand-- Dave’s, definitely, absolutely Dave’s-- in his hair, fingers curling at the roots just tight enough to get a grip and tug his head off the mattress. The line of his throat goes tight as he’s forced to look up and back, at Dave grinning down at him. 

“You done being fuckin’ impatient?” he asks, and when Link tries and fails to nod in answer, he chuckles. “Try harder, baby.” 

So Link does, but Dave just tightens his grip, holds his head in place, and Link moans at the steady, sharp pain in his scalp at the pressure. And when he can’t, Dave makes a sarcastic, mocking sound of pity, and forcibly nods his head for him. It’s humiliating, and Link’s face heats, his hands scrabbling backwards in search of contact, grabbing at his calves and holding himself in place. 

And Dave says, “Will you let Rhett fuck your face like this?” His thumbs trace over the curves and edges of Link’s face as he talks. “Hm? Let me hold you in place while he fucks your throat open?” 

The trembling sets in at Dave’s tone, the way he’s being soft with him, holding him in place, asking him so sweetly for this. This time, when he nods, Dave lets him, that grin turning feral as he taps Link on the shoulder, signals for him to move with him. 

Rhett’s already hard, Link can tell, and he’s putting his hair up in a ponytail, cheeks a bit flushed. When he tilts his head back, Link can feel that Dave’s hard, too, and Link wonders exactly what got them there, if it was their little powwow or if it was Link being on his knees, so obviously into being _ignored_. 

Gosh, he’s not being ignored now, is he? Not with Rhett taking a step closer, Dave reaching out over Link’s head to undo his pants for him. And when Link looks up, it’s just in time to catch them slotting their mouths together, Dave not shy about licking into his mouth, pulling a throaty sound from Rhett. 

Link doesn’t waste time; as soon as Dave’s got Rhett’s cock out, he sinks down, listens to the heavy groan that meets him. He listens to Dave’s own sound, that breathy almost-laugh that means he’s impressed. Closing his eyes and opening his throat, he works himself further and further down Rhett’s cock, letting saliva pool in his mouth messily. Sucking in one last heavy breath before he’s pushing down the last couple inches and pressing his nose into neatly trimmed hair, he opens his eyes and chances a glance up at Rhett. 

“Fuck,” Rhett bites out, just for Link, and then he feels Dave’s hands in his hair again, his grip gentler. When Link does his best at a hum, his brow furrows in shock, his hips jerking up.

And, fuck, Link grabs onto the back of his thighs, urges him forward, puts as much as he can into radiating _yes, please, yes, do it_. He’d love nothing more than to have Rhett fuck his face _now_ and _immediately_ , _please_. It’s maybe a little pathetic, but he honestly doesn’t give a crap. 

Dave holds him in place, like he promised, and tells Rhett, “Give him what he wants, baby.” 

_Yes, yes, gosh, give it to him._

It’s _unfair_ he’s had to wait this long. He’s been good, so fucking good, and listened and done exactly what Dave told him to, and he feels Rhett’s thighs flexing under his hands as he rocks forward, into the slick, messy grip of Link’s throat, pulling a thick and heavy groan from Link’s guts. There are already tears in his eyes, and he’s breathing when he can-- which isn’t often, because as soon as Rhett sees that Link is fine, that he’s comfortable and capable, he’s just fucking into him in a steady rhythm. It’s a little bit of a headrush, honestly, because he’s getting fuzzy around the edges, can feel the brush of Dave’s pinkies along the shell of his ears where he’s holding Link’s head steady for Rhett. 

_Gosh_. 

The room is quiet save for Rhett’s occasional, low sounds and the lewd, sloppy sounds of Link’s throat, and something about that feels taboo and pinches low in his stomach. He can feel his blush before he fully registers what it is, and then he hears Dave laughing. 

“Are you embarrassed?” he asks, and Link squeezes his eyes shut. “Look at me, baby,” and he opens them again, makes eye contact as Rhett grinds his hips against his face. “Hey. You gettin’ shy on me now?” 

He tries shaking his head, because that’s not what this is at all. That’s not-- 

He’s just-- 

This is-- 

Fuck. 

That chuckle is back, burning through him like lit coals, and Dave steps in even closer, presses the line of his cock to the back of Link’s head. Tells him, “Dirty boy like you gettin’ all shy about a cock down your throat. You were made for this, Link.” 

In this headspace, he’s convinced that’s the truth. He’s been reduced down to just this, just the sensation of Rhett’s cock down his throat, his nose smashing into Rhett’s pelvis with every rough fuck into his mouth, Dave’s hands _holding him in place, fuck_. It’s so fucking good, hazy around the edges in a way it has no right being, good in delicious, decadent excess, and he just wants to find a way to wrap his fingers around the melted wax feeling of the moment. 

He wants to find a way to stay _here_ , head empty, body doing exactly what they want from him. 

Sucking dick is just one of those _things_ for him, and it’s probably an oral fixation, considering fingers do the same sort of thing to his brain. He’s hardwired to have something filling his mouth up, and Rhett’s cock is doing such a good _fucking_ job right now. There’s spit everywhere, pooled in the dip of his tongue, where he’s trying to do his best to lick at the underside of Rhett’s cock as he fucks his throat. Strings of it leave everything feeling almost like too much, too wet, too messy, but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about it right now, not with the mantra of _fuck, yes, yes, Link, fuck,_ coming from one of them or _both_ of them. 

Fuck, it doesn’t matter, not really, especially not when Rhett’s hips grind against his face and he’s saying, “Gonna-- Gosh, Link, can I?” 

It’s too intimate for the melty feeling in his bones, and Link just furrows his brows, pulls him forward by his thighs, holds him in place. He swallows, groaning when his throat just flutters uselessly around Rhett’s cock, more spit making a mess of everything, and that’s all it takes. Rhett lets out a groan so heavy Link’s certain it climbs its way from the center of the Earth and rattles through Rhett’s body for him, and comes down Link’s throat for him. 

When he pulls off, Dave’s hands go all soft and complimentary, letting him suck obscenely at the spit on his lips, chest heaving as he tries to pull in as much air as he can. 

“Good _fucking_ boy, Link,” Dave groans, fingers carding through Link’s hair as he settles back into his skin, sits back on his heels. 

But as soon as his lungs aren’t burning anymore, as soon as he can feel his fucking mouth well enough to bite it out, he’s slurring, “Please, please, will-- _can_ you? Please, gosh, Dave, _come on_.” 

And he’s-- 

Fuck, his hand is warm when it makes contact with his skin. Not even hard enough to really hurt, but enough of a sting to leave his face hot, and he’s throwing himself forward to bury his face in the thick bulge in Dave’s pants, mouthing at the shape of his cock around more slurring, more frantic begging that he doesn’t even register as real words. 

Dave mustn’t either, because he’s shushing him, getting his hands on Link’s shoulders to push him back and away, telling him, “Hey, hey. Look at me, baby. Look at me for a second, yeah?”

As soon as Link looks up, he gets his hands on his face, cups his cheeks carefully. Thumbs wipe at the tears that slipped down his cheeks as Rhett was fucking him, and then down to where Link’s face is still stinging just a bit. Eyes slipping shut, Link presses his face into the pressure, asking. 

“Alright,” Dave says softly. “One more. Hear me?” A nod of his head, and he doesn’t get a chance to brace himself. 

And _fuck_. 

It’s harder, this time, almost certainly going to leave a red spot for a while, drawing fresh tears to his eyes. It’s all static, now-- his heartbeat, his breathing, his thoughts. Things are slow and warm and syrupy as Dave asks him, “Color?” 

Link hums, still pressing his face into Dave’s hands, feeling cold everywhere but where he was hit, where he can still feel Dave’s fingers. His jaw is heavy, his tongue is lost somewhere in his mouth, but he tries, gets out a sloppy, “ _Green_.” 

“Fuckin’ hell, baby boy,” Dave says around a breathy laugh. “Let’s get you on the bed so I can really get at you, yeah? Wanna fuck you.” 

His fingers tighten, dig into Link’s cheeks painfully, and he’s encouraging Link up that way, cruel and insistent. It’s hard to unfold himself, to get his limbs in working order, but he eventually makes it work. 

He doesn’t have to hold himself up for long, thank god, because Dave’s got him face-down on the bed in just a few beats. The bed fills up quickly, as the two of them strip the rest of the way and position themselves so that Rhett’s reclining against the headboard and Dave is on his knees behind Link. 

For what it’s worth, Link’s within kissing distance of Rhett, so he takes advantage of the position to try and settle the ocean waves in his nerves. It’s nice, and Rhett makes a thick sound against Link’s mouth, slips his tongue past his lips. Link can only imagine what he tastes like, how his lips must feel all abused and sensitive. This is where his heart lives: in these moments, pressed close to Rhett, pressed close to Dave. So many hands on him always leaves him feeling safe and warm. 

“You okay?” Rhett asks him, presses it against his mouth, just for them. Link still doesn’t fully trust his voice even though the frantic desperation has settled to something more manageable, so he just nods, dips down to nuzzle the warmth of his face into his neck. 

He wonders if he can feel where Dave hit him. 

Then, immediately, he wonders if Rhett will _hit him, too, if he’ll, if--_

“Ask nicely, Link,” Dave tells him, and there are hands on his hips, suddenly, fingers just this side of rough. “Where’d my good, polite boy go?” 

Link feels his face flush, presses his hips back into Dave’s hands. “Will you, please?” he asks, right into Rhett’s skin, mouths at him messily for good measure. 

And Rhett makes a low sound that catches in the back of his throat before he tells Link, “Do whatever you want me to, you keep being sweet like that.” 

“Fuck _yes_ ,” Link hisses, rubs his cheek into Rhett’s shoulder as he sits back up, gets enough space between them so that Rhett has room. An ache blooms in his cheek, a reminder, a warm-up. “Please,” he says again, reiterating that he _wants_. 

Rhett looks over Link’s head at Dave, his expression neutral, but Link feels Dave’s hands move up and stroke along his sides, settling him. Those ocean waves are back, and his chest is heaving again, everything in him pulled taut as Rhett brushes the cheek Dave didn’t hit with the back of his hand, something gentle and kind and so unlike what Link is craving right now that it’s almost more startling than when he finally hits him. 

Rhett’s hand is different. It’s bigger, but smoother and _firmer_. Long fingers that wrap around his cheek, a palm that perfectly cups the jut of his jaw and drags that ache through the whole side of his face. Now, he matches, and he lets out a low, thick moan, moving to rub his face into the sheets, the rough drag of fabric blooming the pain even more. Everything feels balanced, and he rocks back into Dave, rocks forward into Rhett, chases their touches. 

He’s shivering, he realizes, and Dave’s got slick fingers rubbing at his hole, one of Rhett’s hands carding through his hair where he still hasn’t lifted his head from the bed. 

“Fuck,” he slurs. And gosh, now his jaw really is useless, letting spit dribble down his chin, gross and a little obscene, and Dave sinks in with two fingers right as Rhett presses into his mouth with two of his and Link’s pretty sure he wants to spend forever just like this, open around both of them, being stretched by both of them. 

“Don’t be greedy, baby,” Dave laughs, but he curls his fingers up just right anyway, and then he slips those fingers back out to be cruel. But his thumbs spread him open as Link is whining, just to give him different sensations to focus on. Rhett’s fingers are a weight on his tongue, flexing every so often, lazy and coaxing. 

“Want--” he tries, and can’t around the girth of Rhett’s fingers. All he succeeds in doing is drooling some more. 

So he shuts up, breaths coming out heavy and damp against the bedsheets as Dave drags one of his hands up across Link’s ass and up his spine. The touch is nice, is grounding, for all of a beat before it’s gone, cracking back down across his ass. 

Fuck, Dave’s good at that. All perfect pressure and perfect follow-through, hand curved around Link’s ass to add depth to the ache. It’s so fucking good, has Link jerking forward so hard he gags on Rhett’s fingers, tightens around the fingers Dave sinks back inside of him. 

It’s so much all at once, almost too much when Dave spanks him again, a new, more tender spot. He shouts with it, fresh tears adding to the absolute wreck of his face. There’s a third finger pressing into him, slick and perfect, and Link could come like this. 

He could come just like this, with his stinging face pressing into plush sheets, Rhett’s fingers holding his drooling mouth open, and Dave’s fingertips dragging across his prostate with every flex and push. His entire body feels open, feels raw and used, and he just wants more. 

He wants more. He wants-- 

And Dave murmurs, “All you’re fuckin’ good for, isn’t it?” Leans down to mouth wetly at Link’s ass, just adding to the mess. Just another sensation to focus on. Nails drag down the inside of one of his thigh just to leave him shaking. 

_Yes. Gosh, fuck yes._

“You’re just a couple of warm, wet holes for us to use, aren’t you?” 

His vision blurs with tears, and Dave hums thickly, sounds almost _proud_ , when Link nods his head, whining around his mouthful. 

_This is everything,_ he wants to say. This moment, this feeling: it’s everything. All of it. 

_Them_. 

But he can’t, all he can do is rock back into the press of Dave’s fingers, swallow around Rhett’s, and let out the high, keening sound building in his chest. His entire body is a line of desperation, his tunnel vision focussed on getting Dave’s cock inside of him as soon as physically possible.

So he scrapes teeth around Rhett’s fingers as he spits out, “Please fuck me. Please, _please_ , daddy. I want it so bad, please.” 

“How bad?” Dave asks, and curls his fingers again. “No matter what we give you, it’s not enough, huh?” 

“No,” Link sobs, and Rhett’s fingers slip out of his mouth, his hand moving to rest heavily on the top of his head instead. “No, please, I need _more_.” 

“Tell Rhett,” he insists. “Tell him you’re nothing but our greedy, ungrateful boy. Tell him he didn’t give you enough.” 

Those fingers just keep fucking into him, and he’s pretty sure he’s close just from this. His cock has been steadily leaking against his belly, something he’s been unconcerned with until this very second, when he feels Dave’s words in his fucking balls, something tight and hot. Gosh, he’s-- 

Talking is so fucking hard, his brain not wired to his jaw right now, but he tries. His tongue is tired as he slurs around, “I-- I need more, Rhett. I need, need Dave’s cock inside me.” 

“One cock wasn’t enough for our boy, Rhett,” Dave says, _tsk_ ing around it, but Link feels him pull his fingers out, put his clean hand on the small of Link’s back to steady them both. “Fucked his throat raw, and it still wasn’t enough.” 

And the feeling of the blunt head of Dave’s cock at his hole is enough to have his chest aching around a sob, face wet with fresh tears. 

“Beg me for it,” Dave orders. 

The floodgates open, and Link is choking around, “Oh, please. Please, daddy, I-- I need it so bad. Put it-- gosh, put it in me, please. I’ll do--” 

“I know you’ll do anything for it, baby,” Dave promises, and presses inside slowly, easily, Link stretched and loose around him. It’s so much, and Dave just keeps going, pressing in and in and not stopping until he’s all the way inside of him, hips snug against Link’s ass. “Feel so fucking good for me, Link.” 

“Gosh,” Link sobs. “Fuck me, daddy, come on.” His arm flails out behind him, scrabbling for some sort of contact. Still so fucking greedy for him, for more. Dave grabs onto his wrist, fingers circling around it easily, holding his arm down against his back. 

All he’s given is a few heavy breaths before Dave’s pulling back out with a low, “Okay?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Link nearly shouts. “Yes, yes, _fuck me_.” 

And he _does_ , fucks into him hard and deep and Link _swears_ he can feel it in his throat. He swears he can taste it if he really thinks about it. Or maybe that’s Rhett he’s tasting, still, from when he’d fucked Link’s throat open because he’d begged for it. 

He’s been begging for this for days, in hushed whispers late at night with Dave, in shaky conversations with his wife, in-- 

In spiralling conversations with Rhett over lunch. 

Gosh, he’s-- 

Rhett’s warm underneath him, all sticky, familiar skin, and Dave’s cock is so fucking good inside of him, filling him up and fucking out the few desperate thoughts he still had in his head. His entire body is trembling, nothing but centralized feeling, all churning low and dangerous in his stomach, licking its way up his spine. 

Rhett’s fingers scratch at his scalp, and he feels it trailing down his arms. His jaw is slack, mouth open, and Dave’s steady fucking smears his face against the sheets, leaving them wet with his spit. 

He’s a fucking mess-- precome drooling from his cock, spit creating a scatter plot against the sheets. 

“Can I come?” he gasps, loud and sudden, because he’s _going to_. No matter what Dave says, he’s going to fucking come.

“Fuck yeah, Link,” Dave grunts. “Come just from my big cock inside you.” 

He-- he fucking _does_ , gosh, his entire body going tense with it, making more of a mess, and they’re not going to be able to sleep on these sheets. His knees give out, and Dave is nice enough to make the landing less jarring, even as Link chokes on a sob as he comes and comes and _comes_. Whole body _that_ sensation, he lets Dave get his other arm behind his back, hold him in place as he fucks into him harder, chases his own orgasm. 

Link would help, if he fucking could, but as it stands, he’s too busy trying to stop shaking. Trying to fucking come down. 

He does say, “Thank you, daddy,” because he’s _good_ , and his voice sounds-- 

Fucked, honestly. 

He sounds absolutely fucked out. He _feels_ absolutely fucked out. 

“God, you’re fucking welcome, baby,” Dave groans, burying his face in Link’s neck. His hands land on Link’s ass, spread him open, and Link hums at the feeling. He could do whatever he wanted to him right now. 

They both could. 

“Oh my god, Link,” he hears, and then Dave’s grinding his hips against Link’s ass, fingers digging in harder as he comes. 

He wriggles, unable to help himself, because he’s still a _brat_ , thank you. It earns him a swat from Dave, and a laugh from Rhett. Worth it. 

In fact, he clenches just to see what _that_ earns him. Teeth, it seems, as Dave hisses out an _oh, fuck you,_ and bites at his shoulder as he pulls out. 

Link feels...used. Tired. But good. Sort of hazy, still. Good. 

He feels _good_. 

“Can’t move,” he murmurs into the mattress. 

“You don’t have to,” Dave promises. And then his hands are on him again, against his sides, something steadying and solid. Link melts a little bit, eyes falling shut. Angles his head so he can press his forehead to whatever bit of Rhett he can reach. 

The hand Rhett still has on his head pets through his hair. 

“Need a shower,” Link muses. “Bad, probably.” 

“Later,” Dave says. “When I can feel my fucking legs again.” 

“ _You_?” Link gawks. 

Dave swats him on the ass as he shifts, rolls onto his back. Link can feel the mattress dip with him. And when he peaks an eye open, he catches Dave pressing his mouth to Rhett’s calf. So Link nuzzles closer, asks, “Good?” 

Rhett hums, scratches at Link’s scalp. “So fucking good, baby.”

 _Yeah,_ Link thinks. _Yeah, it really is._


End file.
